


Kiss Me Hard, Hold Me Tight, and Promise to Never Let Me Go

by Paranoixa



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: CONSENT IS ALWAYS A MUST BTW, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Random kisses, as a rule of thumb don't copy shit you see in fanfic in real life, don't just go around randomly kissing people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 01:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17715623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoixa/pseuds/Paranoixa
Summary: James likes to surprise Sam with random kisses, and Sam is perfectly okay with that.





	Kiss Me Hard, Hold Me Tight, and Promise to Never Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> This had a plot but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He's in the kitchen when it first happens.  
Veteran's Day is coming up, so, obviously, deserts are in order. Given that Sam's been pretty busy with Avenging duties and whatnot, he hasn't had much time for the VA. He doesn't expect a cake to upheave the guilt he feels at having abandoned his friends there, but, regardless, it makes him feel better to do something so mundane and civil.  
Sam's only been home for half an hour, but he's gotten fully immersed in the baking process; he's covered in flour, egg yolk, butter, and some "super secret" flavoring Nat leant him a few months back. It's a bit too strong for his tastes, but, then again, the cake might just be in need of a little pack. As he's looking at it, he can't help but notice the unflattering resemblance to the Tower of Pisa. It's not too shitty-looking, but Reagan's acting as snack coordinator, and this is Sam's reintroduction with these guys; the last thing any of them needs is a lopsided cake that's got sugar, spice, and absolutely nothing nice.  
"Maybe I should just start over", Sam's murmuring, glaring at the catastrophe in his hands, when three sharp knocks rap against his door. He only has a moment to wonder who could be stopping by at one in the morning before a key suddenly slides into the lock. Sam scowls, reaches for the rolling pin, and adjusts his stance. But the door opens, and it's not another doombot hellbent on kidnapping him or Tony suit intent on racing throughout and around the city.  
It's James.  
"Barnes", Sam croaks, lowering his rolling pin from the air. "What the hell?"  
"I had an extra set of keys made for you and Seve", James explains with a careless shrug.  
"Okay, that's creepy." A little endearing but mostly creepy. Like, bordering Twilight levels of creepy.  
"It's really not."  
"No, it really fucking is." James is stalking over to him, his eyes dark and intense in a way Sam doesn't recognize; Sam bites his lip and takes a step back. "Uh, you okay there, bud? You're looking kind of-"  
Before Sam can finish his sentence, James is closing the distance between them in three giant strides, pushing Sam against the counter, and pressing their lips together. Sam takes a moment to contemplate this in mild detachment before moaning, closing his eyes, and leaning into the kiss.  
This is good. Way better than a floppy cake and a rerun of George Lopez. Shit, James is a lot warmer than you'd expect of a guy who'd been on ice for decades. Sam pants, allowing his lips to open ever so slightly, and practically mewls when he feels James's tongue slipping between them. Sam wraps his arms around his neck, and, suddenly, there are hands on his hips, and, holy shit, why is he so warm?  
James growls, hooks his hands underneath Sam, and pushes him up onto the counter. A canister of Philadelphia clatters to the floor, and Sam's pretty sure that's a blob of chocolate icing he's sitting in, but he's too enwrapped in James's presence to care. He drags his hands up and down James's sides, his chest, his neck, his everything, because Sam has been thinking of this for years, and if this is some kind of allergic reaction to that Mystery Smoothie Tony made James yesterday, Sam may never have another shot at this.  
They've just moved on to grinding and some light petting when James abruptly pulls back and breaks away. Sam whimpers and trails after him, only to snap his mouth shut and slam back into the counter. He blinks, brings a hand up to brush his fingers over his lips, and stares at James with wide eyes. "Uh-"  
James straightens his spine, the heated (lustful, that is definitely lust) look from before long since vacated from his eyes. He stares at Sam and says, without a beat out of place, "Your lips are soft".  
Sam dear near wheezes at that because what the fuck, give a guy a time to recover, he's gonna get whiplash. "Thanks?"  
James wets his lips. He nods, then places a hand on his hip, and averts his eyes to the disaster of a pastry sitting on Sam's island. "Didn't take you for the late night snack type", he notes, an amused lilt to his voice.  
Bizarre, this is bizarre, Sam fell off the pier and right into Bizarro World, didn't he? James just had his tongue down his throat, and now he wants to talk about baked goods?  
Definitely an allergic reaction. It's the only explanation.  
Sam all but deflates. Of course it wasn't real. It's not like he and James are friends. They're more bitter, salty acquaintances than anything else, and he doesn't know why he keeps doing this to himself.  
"Right", Sam says emptily. He crawls off the counter, folds his arms over his chest, and clears his throat. "I'm sorry, did you, uh, did you want something?"  
Because he didn't just come here to kiss him. Right? Because that would imply there was some planning put into this, and, if James planned it, then that means he wanted it, and, if he wanted it, then he wants Sam, and Sam really needs to stop overanalyzing this.  
"...Steve says we should compare mission report statements. You know for authenticity."  
Sam blinks. He looks back over at James and nods, nods like he hasn't just been considering the thousand and one ways James just took him apart and wondering just how much he'd be willing to sacrifice to experience it all again. "Uh huh. Right. I'll, uh, I'll just go and do that." James doesn't move. Heat blossoms in Sam's stomach, and he inhales sharply, steeling himself for the ensuing awkwardness as he says, "Dude, you're kind of in my way".  
James nods, then steps back.  
"Thanks."  
By the time he returns, James has settled himself in on Sam's couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table because he knows Sam won't give him shit about it. Sam smiles and joins him, exchanging a quick battle of witty jabs before picking up the remote and asking James what he's in the mood for; it almost feels friendly.  
The kiss doesn't come up. And Sam supposes he's okay with that.  
. . .  
It's a couple of weeks later, and Sam has entirely written the incident off as just one of those things that will forever haunt him with zero hope for closure. He mopes around for a bit, but Steve and Nat start looking at him worriedly, so he hauls his ass out of bed, trades in his sweats for jeans and a tee, and takes the number fourteen to the VA center.  
It's easier enough this time. The faces are still friendly, welcoming, and the guilt's simmered enough that his hands don't tremble each time he climbs the steps to the center. It's all very tame, very calm, but Sam's mind is still buzzing with the thought of James's body against his, and it's kind of hard to concentrate. That on top of three all nighters in a row, and Sam is just feeling all manners of horrible.  
"Rough night, counselor?"  
Sam looks up and finds Reagan standing in the doorway. "Rough weeks", he corrects but nonetheless manages a small smile as he catches sight of her fiery red hair. "You went with the hot rod."  
Reagan smiles back, then walks further into the room to take a seat on the edge of his desk. "Better than neon orange", she says with a playful sneer. She reaches into the jar of lollipops at the center of his desk, pulls one free from the bundles, and peels off its wrapper. "You feeling up for group today?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good." He's really not. But he likes to hear about how his people are doing. Even if they're struggling, there's something rewarding about stepping outside of himself and into another's life. Although, if he's being honest, he thinks he could really do with more good news than bad around the circle today. Sam wipes a hand over his face, then pushes himself up from his seat. "Just gotta make a stop by the bathroom, and I'll be ready."  
Reagan nods. She slips the sucker into her mouth, launches herself off the desk, and stretches her arms over her head. "All right", she says, giving him a soft smile. "I'm glad you're feeling better."  
"Yeah, me too."  
They walk out of his office together, discussing the flops and successes of last week's seminar and Reagan's dreadful flirting with the new security guard, before exchanging goodbyes as they depart at the crossroads. Sam goes to the bathroom, dragging his hands underneath the water so he can splash it onto his face. When he looks up, he meets his reflection and fails to stifle a groan at what he sees. He's taking raccoon eyes to a whole new level, and his bags certainly aren't helping matters. But it could be worse. At least there's no one here here to pick at him about it.  
"You look even shittier than usual."  
Damn it.  
Sam whips around, and, sure enough, there's James, walking out of one of the stalls to wash his hands all nonchalant, like there's nothing amiss.  
"Why are you here", Sam says, unable to keep the hiss out of his voice.  
James just shrugs, eyes on the gushing torrents of water. "Had to shit. This is the shitter so…"  
Lord only knows how Sam managed to fall ass over tea kettle in love with a guy with such charm.  
"Yeah but that doesn't explain why you're at my job. Or is my reputation just that...dazzling…" Sam shakes his hands out and turns to face James, only to suck in a sudden breath at just how close he's gotten. He looks up, and, yep, he's got that look in his eyes again.  
"Well, I have heard good things", James is saying. "But I mainly just wanted to see you."  
"Oh", Sam says airly before an arm's coming up and around his neck to pull him close.  
And okay. So this is a thing now. Random, out of the blue kisses. Sam can get behind that.  
He sighs, wraps one arm around James's waist, and brings the other up to grab hold of his chin. Underneath his touch, James shivers and breathes hot and heavy, pulling Sam closer and closer until the static crackles between their clothing.  
Sam should stop this. This is clearly just one of those things with James, one of those things he just does, not because he's actually fond of the person but because the action brings him comfort.  
But damn if that thing he does with his tongue isn't drawing Sam all kinds of comfort. And between the flirting and the eye-fucking, there's no way Sam's just pitching at a wall here. Sam groans and dips his hand to crawl beneath James's shirt. But James is pulling away, and Sam is left clawing at the air and stumbling for balance.  
"Thanks for taking me to that chiropractor last week", James says, out of breath. He reaches out, brushes a finger along Sam's profile, and hums appreciatively. Then, just like that, he's turning around and walking out the bathroom, leaving Sam alone, satisfied yet also so very disappointed.  
. . .  
Sam Wilson is a stubborn bastard, so he doesn't allow himself to get too rattled up by James's...gratefulness. He just adjusts the buttons of his shirt, tosses more water on his face, and leaves to start his group session. And if he happens to be a little offbeat, well, he can always blame it on Mondays.  
. . .  
The third time it happens, they've just finished taking out a pack of HYDRA foot soldiers. Sam had been shot out of the air and crashed through an old billboard for Honey Smacks. No minor injuries were sustained, luckily, but he doesn't have time to say any of that because James is darting across the roof, grabbing his face, and pressing their lips together.  
It's not like the other kisses. It's hot and wet, sure, but it's also clashing teeth and bitten lips and skins bitten red and raw by shaky nails; it's desperate, panic-stricken, hungry, like James is afraid that if he isn't fast enough, Sam'll slip between his fingers and be lost forever.  
Sam opens his eyes and finds James's are open, too, wide and red and brimming with tears. James grabs hold of his shirt, bundles the cloth in his hand, and disconnects the kiss. His chest heaves, a single, strangled cry bursting free, and he pulls Sam tight, hard, against him, his face pressed into the crook of Sam's neck.  
"Don't...don't do that", James cries into his ear.  
Sam nods against him. He wraps steady, grounding arms around him and stays planted, stubborn and sturdy like a redwood, and just nods. "Okay", he whispers back. "Okay."  
He gets it. He gets the fear, the paralyzing, energy-draining, snatch-you-out-of-sleep-fear. He felt it with Riley, feels it with James and Steve. It's not something you just forget, even if enough time passes for you to think you've gotten over it. For all his worth, Sam knows this fear. He knows that it's all James can do to hold him, to reassure himself that Sam is okay, breathing and alive and present.  
James needs this.  
"I'm okay", Sam tells him as he drags his fingers through James's hair. "Just some burns and bruises."  
James laughs brokenly. "Dumbass", he says, the syllables wavering and stumbling over one another. "You're gonna-gonna get yourself killed one of these-" He breaks off, inhales sharply, and, if possible, pulls Sam even closer.  
"Shh, shh, shh. Hey." Sam lifts his hands to take hold of James's face. He brushes a thumb along his cheek, disturbing the rivers of saltwater cascading down his face, and smiles. James hiccups and sniffles, blinking rapidly. "I'm okay", Sam says softly. "And I'm gonna be okay. Contrary to popular belief, I'm a bit prone to caution. And I know how to take care of myself."  
James bites his lip and shakes his head. "But what if you don't see it coming? What if you're busy looking for someone and somebody else comes after you? What if-"  
"Have a little faith, Jamie. Between the three of us." Sam pauses and leans in to press a kiss to the underside of James's chin. "Paranoid and meticulous as we are." He smiles, and he feels James relax against him, muscle by muscle loosening at a time. "I think we're covered."  
It's an empty promise; in this line of work, no matter how prepared or paranoid you are, things do happen, and people do get hurt. Sometimes you can stop it, other times you can't. There's no real rhyme or reason to it, just the ebb and flow of chaos and grief dispersed throughout a lifetime. Sam can't promise that they've had their fill of trauma, can't say without a doubt that it'll be nothing but clear skies and shining stars from here on out. But he can hold James through the terror, whisper affirmations into his ear, and assure him that, for the moment, things are okay and that he's working to keep it that way.  
. . .  
A few months go by, and Sam isn't certain what to make of his relationship with James.  
Obviously, they've gone far beyond platonic, even if they're both too chickenshit to admit it. Things haven't been nearly as...intense as they had when Sam had been shot down; no kisses, no groping, no damning revelations. The most they've done recently is cuddling, which, though highly enjoyable, is a bit disconcerting due to the preamble leading up to it.  
The whole situation's just messy. Sam doesn't even know what he wants from James. Because being able to get this close to him, to just crawl into his bed and slide up beside him no matter what time of day? It's more than Sam could have ever dreamed of getting from him. If James should decide this is all he wants, that this is as far as he's willing and able to go, Sam would be perfectly fine with that, would resign to being just this for however long they can have it. But at the same time, he sees the looks James him, the lingering touches he gives when they part holds, the way his eyes light up whenever they share a glance, and he knows they're both wanting for something more.  
So yeah. Messy.  
Tensions are high. Not like how it was in the beginning, when they were both wary of each other's presence, but more so that they're growing frustrated waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop. Just brushing by him, Sam feels as if someone's shoved electric bolts up his veins, and a half glance at James confirms that he feels it, too.  
"He's probably just waiting for you to make the first move", Steve says as he's rummaging through the cabinets for coffee grounds. "You know how he gets with interpersonal type of stuff."  
"I know", Sam groans; he slumps in his chair, feeling for all his worth like a bean bag chair. "I just...I don't wanna jump to any conclusions, you know?"  
"Sam, you're not jumping to anything." Natasha lifts her straw from her smoothie to point it at him. "He wants you."  
"That's besides the point." Sam leans forward, wipes a hand over his face, and stares at the picture of the four of them sitting on the kitchen counter. His eyes lock onto James's, and he feels his skin grow warm, nice and fuzzies fluttering about his stomach.  
He remembers that day. It was a couple of months back, a few weeks before the kissing started. Sam and James are side by side, arms tossed over shoulders, and smiling up at Steve's camera. James has never been very big on posing for pictures, but Sam remembers him insisting on them being that close, and he remembers James's face falling when the camera flashed and they all pulled away.  
God, how hadn't he seen it?  
Sam shakes his head and raps his fingers against the table. "I know how he feels about me, I'm just not sure if he wants to pursue it. I don't wanna make him feel pressured to do anything."  
Simultaneously, Steve turns around from the cabinet, and Nat looks up from her smoothie, both eyeing him with the eyes of a parent sending their child off to prom. It makes Sam groan loudly, ooze out of his seat, and walk over to the fridge.  
"Don't give me that look", Sam mutters with a glare, snatching a frozen Snickers bar from the freezer. A Snickers bar, which, he can't help but notice, has been half eaten. He doesn't even have the strength to get upset about that. Just takes Steve's tub of Reese's Ice Cream as retribution and saddles back over to the table.  
"Then don't do anything to warrant the look." Nat tips back her glass and downs a third of her drink before reaching for a napkin to dap at her lips. "Just talk to him."  
"I do talk to him."  
"Talk to him about anything besides the weather and chore duty", Steve says with a snort. And, okay, he's got a point. But it's hard for them to talk. These days, all James wants to do is cuddle beneath a big, wooly blanket, and Sam just doesn't have the restraint to refuse him.  
Sam's about to tell him so when Nat and Steve suddenly look over his shoulder. Sam sucks in a breath, steals the remainder of Nat's smoothie, and begins slurping.  
"Morning", James murmurs as he slinkers into the kitchen.  
"Morning, Jay", Steve says, but Nat's pushing him towards the doorway and waving quite aggressively at them both.  
"We've got stuff to do, so we'll see you later", she says, smiling sweetly at James; as they pass Sam, the smile turns mischievous, and she mouths, "Tell him" before she and Steve disappear from the kitchen.  
Traitors.  
"They're being weird", James notes, his back to Sam as he crouches to dig through the drawers of the fridge.  
"Yeah." Sam continues sipping at Nat's smoothie until it runs dry, then turns his attention to Steve's tub of ice cream. Cold enough to make his teeth ache and his muscles contract but sweet enough to make him not care. He shivers, then plunges in his spoon, watching as James takes the seat beside him with a plate of day old quesadillas.  
"You're never there when I wake up anymore", James murmurs as he takes a bite of his tortilla.  
Sam scoops himself another pile of ice scream and shovels it into his mouth. When he turns to look at James, he finds him with his shoulders drawn high and tense and his face taut and serious. Maybe they're more like how they were in the beginning than he'd like to admit. Sam clears his throat. James doesn't turn to look at him, so Sam just sighs closes his eyes, and pushes his ice cream away from him.  
"James", Sam starts. "I think maybe it's better if we don't do that for a while."  
James pausing in his chewing. He swallows, thick and hard, and blinks. "Okay."  
"It's just not the best course of action, you know."  
"Yeah, I hear you."  
He's not hearing him. "Look, it's not that I don't like it", Sam continues, panic rising within him. "It's not that I don't like you, I just-"  
"It's fine", James cuts in, curt and quick to the point. He chews around his quesadilla, staring emptily out at the picture of them on the counter. He blinks, once, twice, then ducks and turns his head, refocusing his attention on the overflowing garbage can in the corner. "I get it. You don't want that with me". It's then, and only then, that he looks up and over to Sam, smiling wanly as he gives his hand a brief clench and says, "It's fine". James picks his plate off the counter, then rises to retreat to his room.  
Okay. They've definitely backtracked a few steps.  
"Hey, man, wait." Sam stands, ignoring the clatter of his chair as it falls to the ground, and grabs James by his wrist. "That's not what I meant."  
James doesn't turn to look at him. But he doesn't move either.  
"I just." Sam uses his free hand to scratch the back of his head and huffs. "You make me...confused, Jamie; just being around you is like going fifteen rounds on the Teacups, and, as amazing as that is, I can't keep going like this." He tightens his grip on James's wrist and inhales, steeling himself as he forces the words out. "If we're gonna be weirdly affectionate friends, then, you know what, I'd like that. I'd more than like that. If we're gonna be more, then I'd like that, too. But you gotta let me know. Cause this, whatever this is, it's got me all over the place." Sam drags his finger up and down the inside of James's wrist. He lets his grip go lax and shyly stares down at his feet. "You just...gotta let me know, man."  
It's quiet. All that there's to hear is the sound of Sam's unsteady breathing and that stupid clock Nat promised to fix two months ago. Then there's a creaking, the telltale sign of James shifting his weight from one leg to the other, and James is turning to look back at him, his hair covering the entire left side of his face. He brushes it away, shifts so that his side is pressed into Sam's, and turns his hand so that it rests in Sam's.  
"I want more", James says quietly, and, this time, it's he that's stricken with surprise.  
Sam grabs him by his shoulders, turns him to face him, and smashes their lips together. James whimpers and relaxes into him, shivering as Sam gasps against him and traces his hands up and down his arms.  
Man, Sam has missed this. All the cuddling, all the hugging, all the touching, it was all amazing, but it always left Sam feeling empty, incomplete, and damn he's never felt happier at finding the last piece of a puzzle. Sam smiles against James's lips and pulls him in closer and closer until they're both struggling for breath.  
When they separate, they're both panting and trembling, lips puffy and red. James gulps, wraps his arms around Sam, and pulls him close and just stares.  
Sam hums. He grabs a lock of James's hair and tosses it over his shoulder, drunk as he stares up at James's soft, content eyes.  
"I'll be there when you wake up tomorrow", Sam says.  
James just smiles. He kisses the edge of Sam's mouth, and he's still smiling. "And I'll be there when you go to sleep."  
"I'd like that."  
. . .  
Afterwards, they stagger into the guest room and set about moving in their respective belongings. It's half past eleven by the time they start and two minutes to six by the time they've finished. Should anyone ask, the excuse is that they both have a bit of a hoarding problem, but, in actuality, they keep taking breaks to kiss and cuddle throughout the day.  
By the time Nat and Steve have returned from whatever "stuff" is, Sam and James have climbed into bed, snuggled warm and taut against each other, and fallen asleep, exhausted but immensely satisfied.  
. . .  
"Sam?"  
"Yeah?"  
"I love you."  
"...You couldn't have said that earlier?"  
"I hate you."  
"I hate you, too."


End file.
